Big Brother II
by toadstoolcouch
Summary: Sequel to Big Brother. Incest, bdsm, extreme, slash, Seth/Pickles


Dear Pickles,

Don't ever expect me to apologize for anything. I don't regret a damn thing, and shit, I guarantee neither do you.

You know what? You need to stop lying to yourself, bro, and to me. Remember our last night together, before you ran away to go make your stupid band, I gave you the option to sleep up in my bed with me, or leave. Ok, I didn't really say anything literally, with words, but I know, and you know, that you understood that I wasn't forcing you to sleep with me. But you did, Pickles. You did. I had just raped you, did all kinds of evil, perverted shit to you, or at least that's what you'd call it. You call it rape when you're the one pushing into me, you're the one getting a hard on if I even touch you. I stayed up that night and you didn't move my arm off when I wrapped it around your waist, and even when I kissed your neck, I'm sure I heard you sigh.

I dozed off for a few minute here and there, ya, but I knew I only had a few more hours with you so I stayed awake, feeling your body sag in my arms as you fell asleep, listening to your breathing, feeling your heart beat into my chest. You probably think I was asleep when you kissed me on the forehead that morning. Took everything I had not to throw my arms around you, bro. Give you a proper goodbye kiss.

So ya, Pickles, I'm not sorry, and I don't feel bad about anything that's happened. But I do wish things could have been different. I really don't know. Trust me, I've been rehearsing this fucking letter in my head a million fucking times, and this is like the third time I've sat down to the computer, just writing and deleting.

I don't care if you forgive me or if you really believe all that shit you said in the studio. Rapist, pervert, you called me a faggot to Mom and Dad. You shoot your load in my hand and I'm the faggot? You know just your whole fucking rant screamed to me the same old questions, maybe you've never considered: Why was that the first time you've ever said anything? I once kept you captive in a fucking tree house out in the middle of nowhere for like a week and still, not one fucking peep. Why is it so easy for you to come for me but then you can't get it up with your little boyfriends? There have been times when you've brought friends over, Marcus especially, and you'd think I was gone or asleep and I'd go up to your door and listen. Before you flip, I wasn't like eavesdropping the entirety of your fail dates, I'm not a damn voyeur fag, I just wanted to find out how you got on with others, and lo and fucking behold, not even your girlfriends were enough for you. You douche bag, I'd even hear you faking it sometimes. And here's another question, why didn't you ever try to defend yourself? I mean like really, really try, to where you're basically shitting yourself with effort, clawing my eyes, punching me in the dick, whatever it takes, you know? Kill me if you have to. I'm attacking you, right? I mean, you said I've traumatized you all these years, well how bad does it have to get before you start fighting back?

Ok, ok, there was that one time in Minneapolis you gave me a pretty good show, in the shower. Dick hard as a rock the whole time, but I can tell you did try, and you almost did hurt me. But you weren't really fighting, I mean that animal, primal instinct of honest to God self defense just wasn't there, and that was the only thing that saved me from potentially dying that night. We were in a tub, you could have bashed my brains in on the faucet or the wall, anything. I know I'd have taken advantage of the fucking wealth of lethal opportunities in that shower, if I were you. Unless...

I'll let you finish that sentence, Pickles. You can't hide from the truth any longer.

But shit, I'd be a damn hypocrite if I didn't say that I've been hiding too. So that's why I'm emailing you, bro. I wish I had the guts to tell you in person. Christ knows this isn't really the best way to do this, bur what the fuck ever. Pickles, I love you. And I don't mean that faggoty ass brother love shit either. I am in love with you, Pickles. I have been for, fuck, years. Now, you better keep reading this, douche bag, I'm not done.

Look, I know it's incest, and unnatural and all that shit, but damn if I'm not the only asshole in this whole world who's had a thing for a sibling. Look at Roosevelt, that old bastard and his sister.

Really, what difference does it make if we share the same blood, it doesn't change how I feel. And you know, if things were different at home I would have told you, and I'm pretty sure you'd have felt the same way, and who knows where we'd be now. But things were just too fucking complicated, for lack of a better fucking term.

For four years, I was on only child. I had Mommie and Daddie to myself. I was the precious little boy until you came, and then there was the classic older brother being left out for the baby routine. Of course I hated you for a while, just because I was stupid and jealous, mad at you for what Mom and dad were doing. And once you were old enough to not be the cute, interesting baby, you got to be ignored just like me. Well, still not as much as me.

You probably think that I'm the center of fucking attention now, and ya, ok, they do love to gab about me, tell you how great I am, how much better than you I am, but when you were home Pickles, they were doing that to me. See, let me explain what happened as soon as you learned to talk, bro, they knew there was something different about you, something they knew wasn't going to fly. But they still tried to influence you, maybe encourage the non-gay, non-rebel, non-rock star side in you, if that even fucking exists. The saw you as their pet project and ended up taking their frustrations out on me.

You know it wouldn't be so bad if they could just make up their fucking minds. Sometimes it was, 'Pickles is going into band this semester, why don't you ever do anything like that?' or 'Why is it that Pickles always seems to have more friends than you?' or, my favorite, 'What do you need college for, Seth? Pickles is the one who's going to go to college, it's just not your thing.' And then sometimes I'd get the opposite, though no less fucked up, 'You need to talk to your brother about school,' or 'Why is he always hanging out with the queer boys?' or 'You know if you'd just play football with him or something maybe he wouldn't have this problem,' and the very best, classic Momism, 'You're a bad influence to Pickles, maybe you shouldn't spend so much time with him.'

They only started to devote their attention and talk on me when you left, because, well, it really shocked them that you left like that, and I guess they were scared I would too. I was back to being their only son, and you were just this unpleasant memory.

I always thought you were cool, Pickles. You were always doing something cool and different. When you started playing guitar with Marcus, I seriously wanted to be you, even though you were still a stupid, awkward ass kid and I was almost done with high school. I always knew you'd leave that shit hole town for something better, while I'd be lucky to pay my way through college.

But I wasn't so mean to you growing up because I was jealous, but because I was starting to seriously crush on you, and damn if I knew how to deal with that. I mean, i couldn't even hang out with you without it being weird. I was always kinda the bully, but you picked on me too, dammit. I guess I aways thought that if I ever tried to be nice to you one day, act like a friend or whatever, you'd get suspicious or something. I mean, I've been mean to you all this time, now all of a sudden I'm all lovey dovey, well I can't very well do that, can I? And for the record, I wasn't a dick to you all the time. I found ways to love you without you knowing. Like I'd beat up kids that picked on you at school. Remember your math teacher, the one who gave you a shitty grade and came back to school with a broken nose? Ya, that was me. And don't tell me you don't remember those times you'd come to my room and tell me about your problems and shit. And ya, ok, most of the time I'd say you were being a pussy but you still knew I gave a shit. Certainly more than Mom and Dad. maybe that's why you kept coming back.

I started getting a really strong attraction to you when you were 13. Young, yes, I know, but you kinda hit puberty a little early. I'd fantasize about you constantly, and as time went on, my fantasies would get more and more intense. Sometimes I'd imagine torturing you to death, Pickles, and not because I was particularly mad at you, I just thought it was hot. And no, you douche bag, I don't really plan on doing anything like that. I mean, what's the fun if you're dead? But anyway, I had these thoughts filling my head for a fucking year, and no amount of harassing you in the shower or forcing you to go swimming with me all the time was going to satisfy me.

The day I took you was all planned out, and trust me, I'd been waiting for just the right moment for weeks, and I was extra mean to you so that hopefully you'd fear me more when I did it, and hence be more likely to believe the tell-on-me-and-I'll-kill-you schtick.

So I sure as Hell couldn't really act much different after I'd done that to you. Not that it really was that hard to keep up the whole evil, sadistic dom thing, but there were times when I'd wish I could just hold you, or kiss you the way I saw you kiss Marcus, but I knew I couldn't.

Alright, well I think I've explained that part of it well enough. Now I'd better tell you about what happened with me when you left, though I really, really hate to. It was pretty messy, Pickles. Being the loyal brother that I am, I have never breathed a word to Mom and Dad about anything you did, or any plans. They of course tried to grill me, but I wouldn't budge. for the most part I was like the kid that survived while the other didn't, so I was watched a lot more. Controlled. I was fucking 20 years old with a fucking curfew. I've never had luck with jobs, I hated every fucking job I took, and they were always picked out by Dad anyway. Jesus, how many jobs have I had in just a few years. Always quitting or getting fired, and then getting heat from Dad every time. Mom sitting there at the table, not wanting to say anything, but I can see the disgust in her eyes. Fucking bitch, I'd like to rip those fucking eyes out and shove them down her godamn throat.

Yes, Pickles, to answer that question you asked me years ago, I got that black eye from Dad. He didn't start doing that till about three months after you left, when things were really getting bad for me. I missed you so bad, Pickles, and I spent all my time trying to figure out a way to find you. It took a fucking year, because for one thing, you kept having shows in like California and shit, way too far for me to drive in that piece of shit car Dad got for me, and for another, I never had the chance to save up any money. Yes, they were charging me rent. Not much, but since I couldn't hold a job, I never had any money for myself. As time went on, and I couldn't get a savings going, I started to really lose it. Really, I was only talking back, like you always got away with doing, but since it was coming from me, Dad just had to freak out and think that I was trying to pick a fight. It got to be almost every day he'd find some excuse to hit me, no matter what I'd do.

I don't need to explain the rest of it. There was prison, coming back home, getting that office set up, whatever. My marriage. What a fucking joke that is. Just because the stupid cunt lied about her birth control and I didn't have the guts to disobey Dad.

Thanks for setting this gig up for me, though. It's definitely better being away from Mom and Dad. Making money and all.

Dude, I miss you already. I just want to be with you, ok? However I can, I want to be with you. I understand if this takes some time for you to figure out or whatever, and I totally understand if you're still mad, but seriously, Pickles, think about it. Try to think about why you get so hard when I touch you, and think about the one time we kissed.

Write me back, bro

Seth

"Seth?"

Just from hearing her voice, I ground my teeth. "What?" I was looking over my email, not really the best fucking time to be bothered.

"I'm going out for some smokes, watch the baby, will you?"

"Ya, whatever." I clicked on "save to draft" and went out to the living room.

Ch. 2

As soon as I got to the "I love you" part, I just had to stop. I was partly excited beyond belief, no particular reason, I guess nervous is a better word, but I did find a sick kind of pleasure in making myself wait to read the rest. I saw like fifteen more pages of God knows what, but I figured a few shots would help me concentrate.

I got this damn email like three months, maybe even more, after that day in the studio. I really was regretting that outburst, I mean, it just came out! He was being such a leech, all trying to get me to get him a job with us, what the fuck? What a godamn mooch. Been living with our parents for like a decade, never even tried to do anything for himself, except get his ass in fucking jail. Sorry, I mean prison, big boy's jail.

Well, since that incident I had heard from Mom that he'd gotten married. The way she talked was like everything was back to normal. I'd bet anything Seth had convinced them I was lying, trying to get attention. Shit, they'd believe that. She even got upset when I told her there was no way in fuck that I'd go to the wedding, and fuck no, I wasn't gonna talk to him on the phone.

The guys didn't bring it up since then, and neither did I. I guess I've been quieter than usual, but I'm not the kind of douche to bring everyone else down with my own problems. It hasn't affected our work either, so it's all good. Murderface's been trying to get me to talk to him, but I think he's got the hint by now that the issue is dead.

So ya, getting this fucking email from Seth didn't really lighten up my day. I'd still like to know how he got my personal address. The one on the website don't work, kids.

Finally, I read the rest, and I was sobbing by the time I was done. I even had to stop and go back a few times. I can't even explain why it would make me cry, i guess just being forced to relive all those memories and all.

Or just because every word of that mother fucker made sense, and I really didn't know how to feel.

My third time reading, I was forced to relive a particular memory I thought I'd buried. There was this one time, back when I was still with Snakes 'N Barrels, in the dressing room, I just felt really sad. This was after that time in Minneapolis. I started thinking about Seth, and I wasn't hateful or angry, but sad. I felt just so incredibly empty inside. Lonely, I guess. It's almost like I kinda wished he was there. And then I got called to the stage and didn't think about him again for a long time.

I think what really pissed me off reading that letter was that if he really felt this way, why didn't he ever say anything before now? I mean, I did believe it, and like I said, it did make sense, but it's like he's been going to great lengths all these years to hide it. It's like, I shouldn't really care, what matters is that he forced himself on me, doesn't matter if he loves me, or even if he's my brother or not. He raped me, and that's wrong, end of fucking story.

I really hated him for not telling me until now, though, or maybe I hated him for telling me at all. Ya, I guess it would have been easier to just believe that he's always hated me and he did all those things to me to torture me or punish me because he was jealous or whatever.

It made me think about how that night in Minneapolis, after that kiss, I almost felt like saying I love you. I mean, the sex was incredible, that I will admit. It's just, I don't know, I was so emotional afterwards, and it's like I was not allowing myself to feel so good in his arms. It was a feeling I hated myself for.

Shit, I was ready to put all of this behind me forever, and then he writes me that godamn letter. Godamn him.

Three days later, I got another email from him.

What the fuck, Pickles? Did you read my fucking letter or what? Write me.

-Seth

It's not like I was planning on ignoring him forever. God knows I didn't want him to get him pissed enough to fly out here and come looking for me. Shit, I'd gotten him that job in Australia so he'd leave me the fuck alone. I just needed some time. How the fuck do you respond to that, anyway? Good God, doesn't he ever consider anyone else's feelings?

So then he sends me another letter a week after that.

Pickles,

Please write me. It's been 2 weeks. I know you read my fucking letter. I need to talk to you. Give me your # if you don't wanna write. Fucking talk to me, bro. I'm going nuts down here.

-Seth

Then another some time (I stopped counting) after that.

Just say something! Even if it's just "fuck off," write something to me, damn you!

-Seth

So I wrote,

Dear Seth,

Fuck off.

-Pickles

Ch. 3

I just about put my fist through the monitor. That mother fucker, that fucker! Piece of shit, how dare he? Fuck off? Oooh, the terrible tings I wanted to do to him when I read that fucking letter. After six weeks of ignoring me, the smart ass has the nerve...

Mmmm, I just wanted to punch him till he passed out, throttle him with an extension cord and then whip him with it. And then hold him while he regains consciousness and kiss all his wounds. Shit, I couldn't stay mad at him, as long as he'd be here with me, but with him on the other side of the fucking world, I couldn't help wish violent things on him. Jesus, what I wouldn't have given to just talk to him on the phone!

One thing was for sure, I could not let him get away with being so damn rude. He had no right to pull this shit on me, not after I poured my friggin' heart out like that for him. Even if he wasn't thrilled with what I had to say, I think I deserved a lot more than "fuck off."

With Penny screaming in the background like always, I sent off a response.

Pickles,

After everything I told you, the least I'd expect is some kind of acknowledgment. At least tell me you read it, and you'll write me soon. I do not appreciate the way you're handling this. First off, I get no answer for 6 weeks, add then you send me an email like that. What are you waiting for, an apology? I already explained to you that's not going to happen. I understand if you're mad but come on, you know me. You expect anything different? And anyway, shit, we can talk about it. This is far from over. You can't expect me to just forget about it.

I want you, bro. Ok? It's torture enough with you all the way over there and me here but it's unbearable if you won't even fucking talk to me. Pickles, I know there is something between us, and instead of thinking of it as rape, think of it as me making the first move, you know, making the advances you were too pussy to make yourself. There have been plenty of times when you've begged me to fuck you, regardless that I prompted you, I know you meant it. You can't fake what we had. You fucking know that you can't hide from this, Pickles. You have to talk about it. Please don't make me fly out there because I fucking will if that's what it takes. Don't make this any harder than it has to be.

I'm not waiting 6 fucking weeks for a response, Pickles. Do not keep me waiting.

love, Seth

I decided against really reprimanding him, figuring that I was going to be the bigger man and just be firm and open with my feelings.

I went out to have a smoke with Shirley. That's about all we could really do together anymore, but at least with a cigarette in our mouths we could be civil, maybe even nice.

I only married her because of the baby. Dad would have killed me if I didn't.

I stared out into the sunset, relishing the buzz. God, I started to really get depressed. All I had was a vague threat, not like he couldn't just move or something. Increase security. What the fuck could I do? Just wait and hope to Christ he'd fall for it.

Ch. 4

"Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ!"

That was all I could say to that godamn letter. I just knew he'd make a threat like that. Conniving asshole, even if I got us all to move across the country, or hired a bunch of guards just for myself, he'd still find a way to me.

I did not want to deal with this, but a Xanax and a good joint later, and I was ready to send him something just to stall him.

Seth,

You need to learn to chill the fuck out, dude. You send me a fucking letter like that, you can't expect an answer any time soon. Pressuring me is not going to get me to write you any faster. Look, it's been so long because I don't know what to say, alright? I mean, as far as I'm concerned, this shit is behind me. Look, don't worry, I forgive you, I'm not mad, I understand, and you know what? It's ok. You just think you're in love with me, but that's ok. You're in a loveless marriage and you don't really have any healthy relationships in your life. I've always been there for you, in a sick, non-consensual way, so you're just confused.

I love you too, as a brother, and I'll always be here as a friend to you, ok?

We've been really busy with the new album lately, and especially me. Gotta lay down a whole slew of percussion tracks, you know? Been kinda stressful over here, so you know now's not the beset time to talk or anything, but I promise I'll give you a call when I get the chance, ok? I got your number already.

Listen, I hear it can be really hairy down there, so you be careful, eh? Don't end up like the last guy.

Take care and say hi to your wife for me.

Love, Pickles

I figured that'd give me some fucking peace. To be honest, I really felt like a dick sending a letter like that, but fuck him, seriously. I didn't know what I was going to write, so I thought I could just get him off my back for a fucking second.

The night I sent that letter I drank and thought a little bit about that time in the tree house. It could be a good memory, a traumatizing one, or any combination of the two, depending on what details were most haunting. That night I guess my brain decided to be all sentimental and replay the moments I spent leaning back against his chest watching the sun set through the window. I relived that warm, safe feeling I managed to find in that monster's arms, as if my brain were trying to make me feel guilty for blowing him off in that email.

Fuck him. Fuck. Him. That son of a bitch can wait till I'm fucking ready.

Ch. 5

I could feel my life literally drain from my bones as I read that email. Was it really from him? Could he possibly write something like that to me? It was basically a death sentence for me.

I just couldn't believe he would actually say something like that. Confused? Ecfuckingscuse me? And that shit about him being busy? Hello, I work for his band, I know when he's fucking busy or not. I mean the lies and the condescending tone was bad enough, but I could have dealt with that. But it was all that maybe-you're-confused pyschobabble bullshit I couldn't stomach. Could he really believe that? Was he fucking serious? Just reading that made me want to jump in front of a bus.

My first reaction was to blast him another email but I decided I had to wait. Make him wait. There was no way he was serious about that, I mean he'd only really believe that shit if he were like a fucking stranger, not the kid that kissed me when he thought I was asleep. I'd give him a taste of what he'd been giving me. Make the prick suffer like I did.

Trouble was, I had to keep myself busy to keep my mind off him while I sweated him out. This would be just as hard on me as on him!

I left Amber and the baby at home in Brisbane and made my way by motorcycle to Perth, where I'd arranged a wonderfully dry business meeting with the jackoffs in Marketing. This trip took me across the country and back. I had adventure at pubs and gas station enough to write a book, but as soon as I got home, I was on that computer, logging into Yahoo before even saying hello to my wife.

I just had to laugh. I had six messages! God, I was only gone like a month. Hmm, now it was me losing track of time. Let's see, roughly three weeks after that last letter, Pickles sent his first reply. Three weeks is still a long time, but gotta give the douche credit, that was half as long as last time.

Seth,

It's been kind of a long time, you don't normally take this long to answer. I even had to get my manager to find out if you were still alive. He said you were on a business trip. I guess, next time, if you're going to be out of contact for a while, then could you maybe just give me a heads up or something? You know just so I'm not having to put Ofdensen through any more work than he has to, you know.

Ok, well, I don't know how many internet cafes you got down there in the outback, but I'd appreciate if if you'd write me as soon as you get this, ok?

Take care,

Pickles

Oooh, that really sent a chill down my spine. The little bastard was worried about me! And he was trying not to show it, trying to be all cool about it, like it's a no big deal, just checking up on your brother kind of thing. Bitch, just the fact that you sent me anything gives you away.

As if I were about to bite into a long awaited meal, I tore into the next email immediately.

Seth,

Ok, dude, I just talked to Ofdensen and he said that you were given a laptop and a bluetooth phone, both with wireless capability, and there's like no way you'd go on a fucking business trip without those. At least the damn computer. He says that almost every Hilton or whatever will have a connection. He actually says that you have just been, like, ignoring me this whole time. Well, if you're not, then I'm sorry, but if you are, well, I wish you wouldn't. I understand you're getting me back for ignoring you, ok, whatever. Just like when we were kids, right? But now's not really a good time for that sibling rivalry shit, ok? You're in a pretty high profile position, ok? Of course I'm gonna be worried.

Love, Pickles

God, how delicious! I even licked my lips, savoring that last line. Just as I was about to click the next one, fucking Amber came over to be all lovey dovey on me, wrapping her arms around my shoulder, kissing my cheek. My first instinct was to gnash my teeth and get ready to snarl at her to get the fuck off and let me work, but I realized that I could imagine it was Pickles loving up on me instead. So, imagining that that under-conditioned brown hair brushing my face as Pickles' soft red mane from the good old days, I sighed and returned her kiss.

"Mmmm," she said. "You're very affectionate tonight."

"I'm in a good mood," I said, and I gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze and then turned back to the computer, signaling social time was over. For a few seconds she lingered, and I was forced to click around everywhere but where I wanted, until she finally got the fucking hint and left. Barely hiding a scowl, I opened the next letter. These remaining emails were dated barely a day apart, with some of them in the same day, like this one.

Seth,

Are you mad about what I said in that one email? Dude, I said I forgave you, what's wrong? Are you mad that I said you might be confused about your feelings for me? I'm not trying to be a dick, Jesus, I'm trying to help you out. I just don't think you've thought this through. I mean, you've always been like this, all reckless and shit, never thinking before doing. If you had taken the time to think about it, even talk to someone (dude, Ofdensen can totally hook you up) you'd realized that this is just obviously wrong. You're saying you're in love with your own brother. Doesn't that sound just a little fucked up to you? Who knows, man, this is probably just your mind trying to deal with the guilt for what you did. Then this can be a good sign, that soon you'll be ready to take that next step and forgive yourself. Soon this will all be behind us and we can finally move on. Isn't that what you want?

I only want the best for you, Seth. I really do. I really can't blame you, considering our douche bag parents. We just gotta make sure we don't become anything like them.

Please, Seth, please write me as soon as you can.

Love, Pickles

I had a painful lump in my throat by the time I finished, but I was willing myself not to break down and cry, otherwise I just know Amber would come in.

God, I've never felt such pain. I knew even then that I still had a chance, though, and that there was always hope that Pickles was spewing this quasi-analytical bullshit because he was ashamed of his own feelings, but his cold, uncaring words still stung me like a fucking knife through the heart. Just reading those few paragraphs was like staring into a godamn abyss.

I opened the next letter with the hopes that maybe he'd get the fuck off his high horse and make me feel better.

Seth,

What's going on, man? Where are you? You shouldn't gotten home by now. Now I know you're fucking ignoring me. Dude, you can even call me if you want, just please get in contact. This is seriously bullshit.

Pickles

Ok, not as humble as I'd like, but it did bring a smile to my weary face. Especially the next one made me chuckle.

Seth,

wtf

Pickles

And then the last one, which I took a deep breath before reading.

Seth,

Are you trying to get me to fly down there or something? What the Hell do you want from me? Write me the fuck back!

-P

I stared at the screen for several minutes as the last words of those precious letters burned into my brain. O, there was hope alright. I was going to have to fight tooth and nail for every measly foothold, but I was going to get what I wanted, no matter what.

Ch. 6

"Fucker!"

Swear to God, that fucker Murderface was like waiting for me, Jesus, because like a second after I yelled, he was at my door, which I'd stupidly left ajar, peeking in and asking me what's wrong.

I growled at him, tried to get him to leave, but he fucking waltzed right the fuck in anyway.

"Whachtz up, man?" he asked, and by then I was in no fucking state to talk to anyone. But you gotta give the bastard credit for staying quiet while I flung the shit on my desk to the floor and generally made a good dick out of myself. Shit, at that point I was so stressed I didn't care who saw me, and since it was only Murderface, I didn't really feel self conscious or anything about crying a bit even. To be honest, I was kinda glad he was there.

"Chtalk to me, man," he said, and he sat me on the bed.

"He still hasn't written me back!" I said through phlegm and tears. "It's been a fucking month."

"Scheth? Why wouldge you wancht him to chtalk to you?" he asked, and when I gave him a nasty glare, the poor fucker practically fumbled over himself. "Schorry, maybe it'chz none of my bujinesch but cheeze, man, after what happened..."

"Ya, you probably think I should wish he were dead or something, eh?" I said, in a less hostile tone. I didn't want him to think I was necessarily mad at him.

"Obviouschly you love him," he said, and my heart froze. I looked at him with wide eyes, and he added, as if he didn't notice, "I mean, he'sch your brozther, and you grew up togezther, and you don't want thisch to chtear you apart." He paused to sigh, and this time I was wide eyed by how unusually profound he was being. "You wanna be able to closhe to your own flesh and blood, I underschtand." He turned to look at me with concerned eyes. "But even after what he did to you? You're a bigger man than moscht, Pickleschz."

"Look, don't go dreaming up all this hero shit about me," I replied. "I'm more pissed that he's deliberately blowing me off." I gripped the edge of the bed. "I mean, fuck, our last Australian guy was fucking shot in the head! He's just being fucking immature."

"And you don't need that stress," he offered. You know, I wouldn't have normally been even capable of thinking about something so unrelated to Seth, but I was starting to think that maybe Murderface had a crush on me. I mean, he's not nearly this...personable with anyone else, and I guess I figured that this would be a perfect time for him to try to make a move.

But I kinda felt like taking advantage of his attraction to me by using him as someone to vent to. And who knows, I thought, he might take what I have to say as a hint that I'm not available, and not take it personally.

But then that would mean I'd have to tell him what I was thinking. I sighed and decided to just talk until I no longer felt comfortable. "It's just really complicated, Murderface," I started. I nearly felt like I could, and should, be honest with him, but I was still nervous. "Ya, I do care, and it does make me worried having him down there, pretty much alone..."

"You were the one who schent him thzere," Murdferface said. A little ruthless, I think, but true. "Are you worried thzat if he getsch killed you'll end up blaming yourschelf?"

"Jesus Christ, Murderface!" I said.

"Well, that'sch a pretty valid conchern."

"Well, I guess, ya, but I don't really want anything to happen to him! I gave him that job so I could get him off my fucking back and as far away from me as possible."

"And asch a way to apologizche for outzing him in front of a schit load of people?"

I stared at him and then spat, "What the fuck?"

"I'm not trying to schay thzat what you did wash wrong. Pershonally, if it wasch me, I'd have murdered the fucker myself the firscht time he touched me, but that wasch the route you chose, and I'll reschpectz that."

"But you think that I feel guilty anyway, eh?" I asked, my arms crossed. I was a bit unsettling, I guess, to have someone speak so frankly to me, like he could read my damn mind. It was irritating, yet refreshing.

"Don'tj you?"

"Yes, of course I feel bad about it. I was never going to tell my parents, but it just came out. I guess I just felt so damn suffocated with him all over me the whole fucking day, I just blew up."

"Djid he..." Murderface looked away and scratched his head. Some flakes sprinkled on my bed, but it was ok. "Djid he do anything to you that day, man?" He really was trying to be sensitive, but he ended up sounding like he was nauseous.

"What, you mean sexual?" I asked, and immediately regretted it.

"Well, ya, what, doesh he beat you up, chtoo?"

I just stared ahead for a second, even though I knew my awkward silence was giving me away. I felt like crying again, I really did, but as comfortable as I'd been feeling around Murderface, I just couldn't put him through another case of the water works. "He's just a bully," I said finally, my hard gaze fixed on the wall. And you know what? He's only what my parents fucking made him."

"Don't give me that schit!" he shouted, and he whacked me on the back of the head. It really hurt, too. "Hech's your brother and you have every reaschon tzo wanna forgive him and have a healthy relatshionship with him, but it is not ok tcho be making any fucking excusesh for him, yuo got it? Jesus, don't be so schtupid!"

Rubbing my head, I muttered, "Well, since you put it that way." We sat in silence for a minute, then I said, before I could chicken out, "I think I might...have feelings for him."

When I met Murderface's gaze, I saw the pain in his eyes. It was just the quickest flicker of emotion, but even he couldn't hide it.

"You thjink, or you dcho?" he asked in a very neutral voice.

Plunging my head through my hands, I groaned, "Alright, I do."

"Are you in love wizth him, or jusht achttracted to him?"

I really wish that I had Murderface's skill of hiding emotions so fucking well.

"I don't know, dude. I guess it's a bit of both. I really, I haven't really thought about it so much."

"I'm schure you have," he answered, and this time he was giving the wall the third degree with his eyes. "You're juscht afraid to give your feelingsh namesh."

I just had to turn and look at him and say, "Murderface, where the fuck do you come up with this shit?"

"What?" he asked, suddenly defensive.

"'You're afraid to give your feelings names.' The Hell? You're a psychiatrist now? Where do you get this stuff?'

"Whatch, I read, ok?" he barked. "It interestsh me, what I chan't read now?"

I laughed and slapped him on the back. This seemed to relax him a bit, and he added, gently this time, "Look it'sch jusht thzat I've read about shit like thish before. Victimsh of thzis kind of shit will sometimesh develop, like, feelingsh for their abusersh, and eschpecially schince he'sch been doing thish to you for so many yearsh, I mean it has a name and everything, I juscht can'tz remember."

I stood up and started to pace slowly as he was talking. "No, I get what you're saying, but I have thought about that. I thought maybe that's what it was too, but I know it's more than that!"

"Ok, wouldjz you feel thish way if he had never raped you?"

I rubbed my forehead. "I don't know, well I did think about that, and, I don't know."

"Zchink, Picklesch!"

I turned to yell at him, "Fuck, I don't know, ok? I think I would, anyway, shit, I really don't know. I feel so fucking strongly for him, Murderface, it's gotta be more than whatever fucking textbook case you're talking about."

Murderface leaned back and took a deep breath. "Ya. Alrightj, I'll schhut up about the pthysch major schit. I'm schorry, but if you're gonna tjell me schomething like this, well I'm gonna tell you what I think."

"It's alright, Murderface," I sighed. I sat back down on the bed, making it bounce a bit. "Jesus, this is so fucked up. I mean, this is incest we're talking about!"

"Well, you gotta aschk yourself if thchat'sch really schuch a big deal."

"Murderface, man, it sounds like you're like, encouraging me to like, date my brother!"

"No, man, I'm juscht trying to help you figure thisch schit out, ok? I'm not there to judge your sexch life. God knowsch we all have our own bat-schit crazjy fetishes, you just gzotta do what makesch you happy, bro, fuck what anyone thinksch."

I smiled at him, feeling a kind of cheap thrill at his barely perceptible blush. "Thanks, man, you're being really cool about this."

"Ya, well, I juscht don't want you to have to deal with this alone, you know? Schit, everyone else is like schcared to even talk to you."

I frowned. "What do they say about me?"

Murderface got really uncomfortable. "I don't know, we're juscht worried, and schit, what you schaid, we'd never imagine anyzthing like that, I mean that isch hardcore, man. Nobody knowsh what the fuck to schay."

"Jesus," I moaned. "I wish I never said anything. Fuck! I just want everything to go back to normal. I hate how fucking awkward it is for me, around my own band! Jesus, it's been month, and I still don't even feel like I'm part of the band anymore." I felt those shameful tears poking at the backs of my eyes thinking about all this. I remembered how when I was a kid, I would hide from Seth and Mom and Dad and everything else that hurt me in my music, knowing I was always safe there, because it was safe in my mind. No one could touch me there. Seth could control my life more and more, but I never let him fuck with that one sanctuary, that one thing that made me me.

Well it looked like his slimy influence was finally cracking through. Now my relationship with my band was fucked up, now these guys that I would definitely consider friends, shit, my only friends, think I'm a freak, some kind of outcast, like a leper.

It had been so long before that day, since Seth had touched me, and now he was thousands of miles away from me, and still, he was ruining my life. I felt like I could never, ever escape him. And yet I was going apeshit because he hadn't yet responded to my emails.

"Hey, man," Murderface soothed, and he took me by the shoulder and I let him pull me against

his chest. Ya, I know he had a thing for me and I didn't want to get his hopes up or whatever, but this wasn't anything gay. God, I just needed to feel someone's arms around me, and I couldn't pretend anymore that I didn't wish those arms were Seth's.

When Murderface left, I wiped my nose and went back to my computer.

Ch. 7

"Seth! Hey, fucking wake up!"

"The fuck..." I grumbled. My mind was still engrossed in whatever trippy-ass dream I was having, and it took a second to find my own dreary reality. "Who is it?" I groaned, taking the phone from Amber.

"It's your brother," she said, irritated, then flumped back to sleep.

O ya, that woke me up like a kick in the face. I almost tripped over myself scrambling out of the bed, and I kept the phone against my chest so he couldn't hear my excited breaths. When I was finally ready, on the porch with a lit cigarette in my mouth, I answered the phone.

"What's up, bro?"

"Hey, did I wake you up?"

O Pickles I'd give up sleeping forever just to hear your voice. "The fuck do you think, douche bag? This is like fifteen time zones from yours, it's fucking three in the morning or whatever."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"Aw, give it a rest, jackass, what do you want?"

"Seth, I...are you, are you mad?"

I took a hit and said, "About what? Humiliating me, or patronizing me after I made the mistake of trusting you?"

"Gawd, Seth, I didn't mean that shit in the email," I just about shit myself with relief, even though I already knew that was the deal. "I don't know what to say, and you were fucking hounding me, man..."

"Ok, calm down, dude," I interrupted. "Look, why don't we do this." I took another drag before asking him this next part, my hands shaking. "Why don't we get together and talk, eh? This shit isn't gonna work over the phone, man."

"Dude, are you still mad at me, though?" His voice sounded like it came straight from my memories. It was stimulating, but also haunting.

"Of course I'm fucking mad, you son of a bitch..."

His nervous laughter cut me off. "You got that right, and so are you, you douche."

I just stared off into space for a second and then laughed, "Fuckin' retard!" I smiled to myself and then said, "So send me a ticket, Pickles, an e-ticket, whatever. I'll let you decide when and where, ok?"

A pause, but he said, "Ok."

"Don't take too long, alright? I'll be waiting," I said sternly.

"Ok, ya," he answered in a delightfully small, fragile voice. I swear, it was like he was being shy or some shit over the phone and it made me wish to Christ he were in front of me so I could throw my arms around him, even though I suspected he was doing that on purpose. Shit, that didn't matter, because I was going to see him! He was gonna send me a ticket, he was going to make this happen. I was so fucking happy I couldn't breathe.

"Alright, I'll talk to you later then," I said.

"Ya," he said.

Biting my lower lip, I said, "Hey, Pickles?"

"Ya?"

"I love you."

The pause lasted barely a second, but it killed me.

"'Night, dude." He hung up.

I sat myself down slowly and stared into the wall for a long time. I think I smoked about four cigarettes in a row, and then finally, I lost it. I couldn't fucking help it, and I felt like such a pussy, but I ended up just crying, and I mean a real sob fest. There was so much going through my mind, I felt like I was choking, or drowning, or something.

I felt, like, really happy and relived that Pickles had agreed to meet me like that, I mean, I was stressing out about his answer really bad, so it's like it still didn't even really hit me. It seemed like one minute he hated me and never wanted to see me again, and now he's flying me out to see him, fucking overwhelming.

But what really did it, and God I know this is so stupid, but when Pickles didn't say I love you back to me. I wasn't expecting him to, not so soon, anyway, but shit, it felt like he fucking shot me in the face.

As excited and happy as I was that I was finally going to get the chance to see and touch him, I also kinda wished I was dead.

Ch. 8

"You schure you djon't need me to go withchu, man?"

I was shaking, so I popped another Xanax. "No, man," I said and started packing a bowl. "Toke with me, before I go?"

Murderface laughed, but he sat down with me. "Cheeze, man, you gotta be at the airport in like ten minutes!"

"Trust me, I won't make it outta here the way I am now. I'm meeting him somewhere near the airport anyway."

"Hguh," he half-laughed, half-choked. "A schecurity measchzure, huh?"

"Huh, ya. I'm sure it'll be fine, just gotta get it over with."

After a few more rounds, I headed off, taking a car Ofdensen had rented for me, and just tried to only think about the high and the music I had cranked on the stereo. I'd told him to meet me at a Starbucks right off the exit. I sent him the Mapquest info and I settled down with my laptop about a half an hour before his scheduled arrival. I figured I didn't want to make him wait, although that's exactly what I had to do. Those three hours I spent sitting there were the worst in my goddamn life, I swear to God. What a miserable, anxious time I had, looking around like every five minutes, even checking my mail, like he was going to fucking hop on a computer on the way.

Whenever I visualized seeing his familiar, striking figure walk through either of those doors, my heart would race so hard it would hurt, and I'd force myself to find some distraction from the internet. Didn't matter what drugs I'd taken, or what I was slipping into my coffee, this stress was really wearing me out.

My left leg was jumping and I needed to pee, but I didn't want to leave my seat in case he walked in at just that moment, but after two hours of agony, I gave up. But damn, I was quick about it.

As I walked back to my seat I felt a hand on my shoulder and I spun around as if possessed and for a fraction of a second I didn't recognize the man standing in front of me with dark round sunglasses and thick, light brown hair casually swept back. When he took off those glasses a set of greenish, hazel eyes flashed into mine like two suns smoldering in his head. My first thought as the familiarity hit me was that he was beautiful. Startlingly so.

Of course, he had a way of smothering with his presence alone, like he had a fucking aura or something that would eat me alive if I weren't careful.

"Hey, bro," he said with an easy voice. I could tell, though, that he was struggling to keep his smiling to a minimum. Ya, he sure looked mad at me.

Well, shit, I felt as giddy as if I were meeting a fucking celebrity. Don't know if that was excitement or fear, though.

He held out his arms and beamed, "Come on, gimme a hug."

"Uh, hold on," I faltered, turning to my table. "Lemme put my stuff down."

"Aw, don't worry about yer fucking purse," he said with a trace of anger.

I went for my table and put it down anyway, blatantly ignoring his invitation. "It's a fucking messenger bag, not a purse!"

I didn't look at Seth's face, but I could hear his voice darken just a bit when he replied, "Hey, you wear it on a strap around your shoulder like a fucking woman, it's a fucking purse."

"Ya, whatever," I said as I sat down and grabbed my cup compulsively. "Where's your stuff?"

"Got my backpack right there." He pointed under my chair. "I took a wild guess you were sitting there." He smirked and I looked up at him from under my brow as I pretended to take a drink from the empty cup.

After a wonderfully awkward minute or so, he asked, "So we gonna grow old here or are we taking off?"

"Huh? O, ya, sure. We can go. Where do you want to go?" I asked, feeling stupid. Even though my voice was pleasant and friendly, my face offered nothing but a blank slate. He had a quiet fury lurking behind his eyes as he pretended not to care.

"Wherever man, as long as we can be alone."

I cleared my throat. "Well we can start off somewhere outside, somewhere more..."

"Safe?" Seth snarled. "You don't want to be alone with me, eh?"

"Well, to be fucking fair you did try to strangle me the last time we were alone," I snapped. I was starting to really regret this.

Seth shook his head and looked away. Then he dropped his head in his hand and muttered, "Wow, this isn't fucking awkward."

"Jesus, it's your fault I can't trust you!"

"Then why the fuck did you fly me here?" he yelled, and some people looked at us.

"Dude, chill," I whispered. As he stared at me with acidic eyes, I said, "Damn you, I didn't let you come out here so you..."

"Let me?" Seth raged. "Let me?! You little fucker! I don't need you to fucking LET me do anything!"

"Calm the fuck down, Seth!" I said, as I was starting to yell myself. Jesus, that was embarrassing, and there was really no way to control it, especially with me getting furious as well. That's what you get when you stick two pissed off Irishmen in the same room, I guess.

"You fucking asshole," he growled, getting up. He went to tower over me, but I got up and faced him, even though I had to lean up to meet his glare, with him being almost half a foot taller. "Why you always gotta be so self-fucking-righteous, huh? Brought me up here so you could give me shit, is that it?"

I wanted to throttle him, but by now we really were a spectacle. Seeing an employee venture towards us, I tried to put my hands on his arms, but he shrugged me off and snarled, "That time at the studio isn't enough for you?"

"Sir?" asked a chick who worked there. He threw her a baleful glare for a second and then smiled warmly. I watched the girl's face change from fearful to gratefully relived, and wondered briefly if I was like that with Seth too.

"I'm sorry, Miss," he said pleasantly. "I obviously can't handle myself. I'll leave now." With an evil look to me, he took his backpack and left. I wanted to scream something after him, but there was already way too much attention on me.

I couldn't believe it. I was floored that it had gone so horribly, and all because of him. he was the one who wanted to talk, and now he was the one who fucked it up. I hated his guts for ruining this, and right then all I thought about doing was going home and getting smashed.

He was out there when I left, leaning against the wall in the alley nearby. He walked up to me when we met eyes, and reached a hand out for my arm. I growled, "Don't touch me, you fucking psycho!" and pulled away.

Seth was still obviously furious, but there was a desperation in his eyes that really was terrifying to see. A sort of naked loneliness that just wanted to suck up anyone that got too close. "Pickles," he said with a hollow voice. "Hey, come on, man. I didn't mean to yell like that..."

"What the fuck are you doing, starting a fight with me in a fucking Starbucks?" I started walking away, and he trotted after me.

"Look, we were both angry, we just got off on the wrong foot, is all, hold on!"

As I took the keys out of my pocket, I felt like those chicks in the movies who are being chased in the parking lots at night. "You're insane," I said, sticking the key in.

"Dammit, don't you fucking leave!" He shot his hand to mine and for a minute we were fighting over the keys. That old surge of panic overwhelmed me and almost left me helpless.

"Dude, you better let me go or I'll fucking yell for help!" I hissed as he pressed me against the car and pushed a knee into my thigh. I pushed hard against him, using my forearm. I thought about what he said in the letter, about me not really trying to fight back, as I forced him off.

"Stop!" he yelled, and then he lost his grip and I wrenched free. I still remember the miserable look of defeat that was in his eyes even before I started to overpower him. I ran to the driver's side, but before I put the key in, Seth put his hand on mine and said, "I'm sorry!" My heart froze and I just stood there as he practically whimpered, "Don't go, Pickles, please."

I glared at the car window, gnashing my teeth for a moment, listening to his shallow breathing. With his hand just barely touching mine, I mentally screamed to myself to just go, just get in the car and never look back. I told myself that if I fell for this now, I couldn't go back. I would be throwing myself into the monster's jaws. I looked into his eyes and found an earnestness that seemed vaguely familiar, as if from a long lost memory.

I sighed and unlocked both doors with the beeper. "Get in."

Faint with relief, Seth got in almost as quickly as I did, and we drove off in silence for a while. I was cussing myself out for doing that, but on the whole, I felt ok about it. I tried to imagine how I would have felt if I had left him behind, and, well, I didn't want to think about that anymore.

"Hey, dude," Seth finally said. His voice was quite the opposite of that smug, condescending tone I was so familiar with, but it was still far from a normal person's. "Hey, I really fucked that up back there..."

"Ya, you did," I said, my eyes straight ahead.

He paused, and I imagined he was most likely struggling with his temper. "I know, and I really didn't mean..."

"Look, can we just not talk it right now? Please?"

He went quiet and we got on the highway. After a few minutes I broke into a small smile and said, in a forcibly lowered voice, "'I'm sorry I just can't handle myself.'" I looked at him and saw him frown with confusion and added, "That's like the lamest fucking pick up line I've ever heard in my life!"

I saw him start to grin, but no less confused, so I puffed up my shoulders and did the terrible impression again. "'I got an awful lot to handle here, I think I need some help, baby!"

"What the fuck?" Seth said, but he was laughing too. "I was not flirting with her, Jesus Christ!"

"I guarantee she thought you were," I said. "She's gonna tell all her friends about the weirdo at work now."

"Aw, fuck off!" he chuckled, and then we went quiet again. At least it wasn't so intense.

After a few minutes, he said, "So you gonna let me talk now?"

"I thought you didn't need me to let you do anything," I said, with a slight sneer.

He grinned a bit at that and said, "Well I guess since you're the one driving you're in charge." A bit of the old sarcastic edge was resurfacing in his voice, but it actually made me feel a bit more comfortable. The Seth that apologized and pleaded was a stranger to me.

"That'll be the fucking day," I muttered, then sighed. "Can we get to the fucking park first?"

Seth chuckled. "You and the park."

"Sorry it's not a cheap motel room or a public bathroom," I said.

"Fuck you, I was only commenting on your choice of the safe, outdoor, public meeting place, you douche."

"What, it's a fucking park," I said with a frown.

He smiled as he answered, "You always loved going to parks, shit." I looked at him. He was gazing out the window. "And every day we went, just like fucking clockwork, you'd ask Mahm where the swahns were. Always with the fucking swahns."

"What's wrong with that? Swahns are cool."

He turned to grin at me, "We didn't have any fucking swahns, Pickles. They just didn't live there, but you couldn't get that through your thick skull."

"Jesus, I was a kid, gimme a break." I was a bit embarrassed, but I guess it was pretty funny.

"Dude, you were like eight or nine when you finally stopped, that's pretty fucking old to be asking about godamn swahns."

I laughed, "You must have beat it out of me by then."

He scoffed, "Fuck! I probably did. Jesus, it was annoying as Hell!" Then in an irritatingly exaggerated kid's voice, "'Mahmmie! Where are the swahns! I wanna look at the swahns!"

I cracked up. "Shut the Hell up!"

"'Aaahhh, I want the swahns!' What swahns? Man, you were a dumb kid."

"Ya, whatever, we're here, so get the fuck out of my car," I said.

We walked down the path, heading towards the pond, making a few cracks here and there but for the most part we were just trying to get ready for the inevitable conversation that could very easily turn into another fight. Well, at least I know I was seriously dreading talking about anything more serious than swans, and judging by the way he avoided my eyes and how much he was smoking (it was pretty funny how he'd try to hide it from the other people in the park by cupping his fingers around the cigarette and blowing the smoke towards the ground. He didn't know I was watching, and I almost laughed aloud when he ended up burning his hand.), I figured he felt the same.

But whatever was going to be said had to be said. I had left Mordhaus confused and expecting answers, like maybe Seth would spill his heart out and everything would be figured out for me. I was really hoping that seeing him would give me some kind of closure, too. We'd talk a bit, he'd maybe give me some sort of apology, I'd tell him it's ok, and we'd be alright. And I could act out my feelings for him by just being his friend. I had thought that I had just missed him, and that whatever lust I had, I could get over it in time.

Ya, and then I saw him again. Even now, in the park, after a stupid fight he started, I felt removed from reality. I've always been attracted to him, even if I never wanted to admit it, and I swear to God it was like was Cinderella before and now he's the princess at the fucking ball. Jesus, that is a the gayest comparison ever but I can't think of how else to explain it.

And you know it wasn't just his looks, as amazing as they were alone. It had only been, I don't know, three? four months since I last saw him, and he was like a different person altogether. He's definitely seen some sun. Lucky fucker, the sunlight didn't burn his skin, but left it a honeyed kind of color, and his hair was lighter. Longer, too. Not by much, but enough so that it curled under his ears and brushed against his forehead in the wind. He also seemed thinner, as if that could be possible. It concerned me, of course, but I have to say the weight loss just gave his features an even harder edge. It looked good on him.

But shit, that wasn't even what got me. Anyone could be hot. But no one could have that...whatever it is that made him that irresistible fantasy I never allowed myself. Even if he were ugly or horribly scarred, I know I'd still feel that same intoxicating, helpless feeling with his hand on my throat, or with his tongue in my mouth.

I guess I was just born to be an incestuous, nasty pervert. Like him.

We sat down on the first bench we saw, and he took out yet another cigarette. I took one when he offered, and by that time we didn't care if anyone saw. I watched him take a drag and exhale through his closed teeth, lips curled, eyes on the wafting smoke. "You know, there's really only one thing I want to say here," he said, and he rubbed a finger across his nose. "I want you, Pickles." He looked at me, his eyes squinting slightly from the sun, the cigarette burning in his lips. "That's all that matters to me."

I rubbed my forehead and said, "God you just make it all that simple, don't you."

"Don't give any sass, godamn it," he said, and he did what I used to admire him for when we were kids: ash his cigarette with a quick, effortless flick of the wrist. "We wouldn't even be having this conversation if I were the only one, alright?"

"Look, why don't we pick up where we left off on the phone? I guess we could start with, are you still mad at me?"

"Yes," he said, and took another drag. He spit and leaned back in the bench, looking out at the pond. "I can't believe you even have to fucking ask." He smiled softly. "I told you a long time ago that if you ever told on me, I'd kill you." He laughed, and I laughed a bit too, though dryly.

"So will you now?" I asked.

He threw me a grin. "Hmmm, you wish. I'll get you back for that some other time."

I leaned back too. "Ya, I'm sure. So what happened with Mahm and Dad?"

"Ya, I had to think about that for a minute. There was no fucking way I could have them believing what you said. I told them that there was this one time when you were fourteen and I beat you up really bad and like threatened you and shit. I said that we'd gotten into a fight," he interrupted himself with a rueful laugh. "Over a girl, no less, and I just lost control. I embellished the story, you know, to make it believable." He laughed, "You should have seen me! O God, I had tears in my fucking eyes, what a sob story. By the time I was done, they were all over me, Mahm at least, like I was the victim."

I looked at him for a minute, not in any way sharing his mirth. Frankly, it made me sick, but more because of my parents. Fucking Mom will believe anything, just depends on how well you sold it. Ok, I can believe that Seth, in the long run, got it worse than I did from them, especially Dad, (Jesus Christ!), but he could still get them on his side quicker than I ever could. He could speak their seedy, hypocritical language so well it was hard not to think he was exactly like them. I guess you could say that Dad beat up on him so much because he was trying to push him to his full potential. Actually, ya, that sounds exactly like something Dad would do.

In any case, I could totally imagine the scene exactly as Seth told it, and I said, "Gee thanks. Now they think I'm a fucking psycho for making that shit up."

Seth laughed, "You've always been the psycho, Pickles! What do you care what they think of you, anyway? Shit, the only reason I bothered telling them that story was so I could continue living there without too much shit."

"Well you're free from them now," I said dryly.

He put the cigarette out on the iron arm rest of the bench. "Ya. Just to move in with another douche bag." He sighed. "Dude, I want to quit that jackass job and come up here and live with you."

"What?" I flustered. "You can't live with me, man."

"Why not?" He was staring at me hard. I tensed, fearing a conflict.

"Dude, the guys are not gonna let you move in with us. That just won't fucking fly." I crossed my arms and felt myself start to get nervous, antsy.

"What, you don't have your own apartment, or house or anything?"

"No, why would I need my own damn house?"

"So you're telling me that you guys all live together, day in, day out, in the same house? You don't ever get, like, sick of each other after a while?"

I shrugged. "Well, ya, I mean things can get tense or whatever, but it's not like we fucking hang out all the time, we each got our own shit to do. We have our own rooms."

Seth turned to face the pond and scoffed, "Shit what a fucking luxury! Damn, I can't believe you guys live together like that! Like no other band does that. Wow."

I gave him a thin laugh. "Damn, Seth, it's not that weird. I mean it's practical, you know? I mean, at least none of us is gonna have to get up extra early and drive to a studio. Shit, I can just roll out of bed and get started whenever."

Seth was still smiling about this as he ruffled his hair with his fingers. It shone in the sun. "Ya, well ok. Then buy a fucking house next door or something." He waved his arm for emphasis as he added, "Buy one in every major city, wherever the Hell you guys tour, shit! You're rich enough, right?"

Sighing, I tugged on my eyebrow ring. "It's just not that simple, Seth."

"And why the fuck not? I want to be with you, so get a fucking house!" As I leaned forward and laughed to myself, he added, "Don't you want that too?"

I shook my head. "Fuck, man, you can't just ask me that and expect, I don't know."

When I turned to face him, he was sitting upright, his face set in fury. I flinched instinctively, as if expecting him to haul off and punch me. "You are a piece of fucking work, aren't you?" he growled through gritted teeth. "You know this whole fucking time you haven't said one word about what you're thinking." When he turned his body towards me, I felt myself panic slightly. I knew it was stupid, and that I was overreacting, but then again, this was always, always the warning sign of trouble. Once he got mad, there really was no stopping him. Like a fucking avalanche. "In all these years, you've kept all those secrets in your fucking head, hiding away from me." I was leaned back against my side of the bench as far as I could, and he was now very close to me. "Even after all those letters, after everything I told you, nothing from you." He jabbed a finger into my chest and snapped, "No more fucking around, Pickles. Do you love me or not?"

I stared, and felt my mouth go dry. His eyes were intense, flaring, and I felt his hand grip my arm, very slowly but steadily increasing pressure. I could barely breathe.

"Fucking tell me!" he hissed. "And do not fucking lie. I can tell when you're lying."

I struggled, but he held on even tighter. "Dammit, that's a strong fucking word, I can't just..."

"Tell what you feel, damn you, give me something!" he yelled into my face, shaking my arm. "You give me another 'I don't know,' and I swear to God..."

I pried his fingers off my arm, only so that he could grip the base of my neck. He wasn't choking me, yet. My body was about to explode I was so anxious, and the more he squeezed his fingers into me and tried to drive an answer out of me, the more stressed out I got, and eventually I ended up breaking down and crying. I was humiliated, and I tried to turn my face away, or at least cover it with my hand, but Seth held my head with both hands and forced me to look at him. "I don't want to talk about it!" I hissed, hating myself for the tears running down my cheeks, and onto Seth's hands.

"I don't care," he said. "I've been doing all the fucking talking, Pickles. It's your turn. I didn't come all the way out here for you to pussy out on me like this." He took his hands off and was overall much more gentle, as if he knew the answer was coming soon enough. "Just talk to me, relax and talk to me."

I took in a breath and felt myself calming down. It did feel a bit better to let some of the tension out. "I...Seth you know I care about you, and I want to be your friend, I don't want to be mad at you about...all that." I wasn't looking at him as I said this.

"I know all that, I don't give a shit about that." He put a hand on my head, and I let it stay. "Come on, man, you can't fool me, ok? I know there's a lot more you've been trying to hide all these years. Just let it out, for Christ's sakes, let it out." He lifted my chin and we stared at each other for a moment. He wasn't so angry now, but he was just as intense as ever.

"Alright, I have feelings for you, ok?" I snapped and wrenched my head away. I heard Seth's breathing speed up a bit.

"What kind of feelings?"

"A lot," I said and was quiet for a while. "I hate you for ruining my childhood, I hate how you were such a...terror to me." He put his hand on my thigh. I didn't do anything about that. My voice got a bit calmer and sadder as I went on. "But I mostly hate you for not telling me, all this time."

"I already explained that to you, man," Seth said, his voice soft. "I'm sorry it took me so long to finally get the guts, but at least I finally did." He slid his hand a tiny bit further up my leg. It felt comforting in a way. "Why are you mad about that?"

I looked up at him with reddened eyes and said, "Because I've felt this whole time that what I was feeling was wrong! I thought I was fucking disturbed or something."

"What were you feeling, Pickles?"

I looked away and snapped, "The same as you, dammit."

He pulled my face back to his and said, "Tell me. Tell me exactly."

I ground my teeth. "I'm in love with you." I practically snarled that, and I closed my eyes and sighed, "I guess I always have been."

When I opened my eyes Seth was a mess. He was looking downward, his eyebrows tight together, teeth tearing into his bottom lips. His eyes were red and ready to spill. He flicked shiny, wet eyes at me and said with a small, cracking voice, "O God how long have I been waiting for that." He threw me into his arms and we sat like that for a long time, with me practically crushed in his arms, limp as a doll.

It was a burden lifted, for sure, but I could never have predicted just how heavy that burden had been. I couldn't imagine how I had managed to live all those years with it, as I felt myself lean into my brother's arms, comfortable enough to sleep in them. While Seth cried softly, just barely making any sound or movement, I sat still, emptied, but peaceful. After a while I leaned back and put a hand on Seth's face, and as if choreographed, we both took that opportunity to kiss. Unlike those fervent, forceful kisses I was used to with him, this one was tender, slow. Soft.

And like the fluffiest cloud I could be gay enough to compare it to, it soon vanished and made way for a much more vicious passion I remembered Seth for. He bit down on my lip and started pushing down on my shoulders, but I soon enough pulled away from him and said, "Jesus, cut it out, not here!"

He was breathing heavily, and he said, "Sorry, got a bit carried away."

"Ya," I said. I pushed my fingers through his hair and he closed his eyes and made a soft sound of pleasure from the feeling. As I stroked his hair and then let him lean into my arms, I realized just how little I knew my own brother, that this was a side to him I could never even begin to expect. Even in my fantasies and dreams, I'd never thought to imagine the feeling of his cheek rubbing against mine, of how it felt to rub the back of his neck. Here, in my arms, was that key sensation I sought from countless lovers, and could never find. I just had to marvel at the cruel irony of it all; I felt like I'd finally found what I was looking for all these years, but from the very man who had caused me so much pain all my life, and would undoubtedly give me so much more.

He lifted himself off me and smirked, "Wanna blow this popsicle stand and get something to eat? They didn't give me shit on the airplane."

"Ya, sure," I said, and we got up, a bit awkwardly, though. I felt his hand on my back for a while as we walked back to the car, and then he dropped it. I saw him, from the corner of my eye, stuff his hands in his pockets and we didn't say anything except where we'd go eat. Jesus, this was like a fucking dream to me, I could barely believe it was real. I'd gone to meet him hoping we could move on, and we were, just not in the direction I dared to hope for.

ch. 9

I was walking on motherfucking sunshine, man. That kiss was beautiful, Jesus. You know it's funny, it's a beautiful thing to force a kiss from my brother, and watch his eyes gleam up at me with that precious look of defeat in them, but this was so different, this was him wanting to give himself to me. Him kissing me like that, well it made me think of a flower opening in my hand, and my hand only. Fuck, listen to me, I feel like Robert fucking Frost over here. I guess I can get a bit poetic when I think about that crazy little fuck.

We'd decided to go eat at the Outback Steakhouse after I made it clear to him that I didn't think a bar was really an appropriate place to catch up. He felt better when I told him I'd let him have up to three drinks of his choosing. I just knew the fucker would get rubbing alcohol if he could.

Well, as giddy as I felt from how well our little talk went, I knew we had just barely opened the door. There was just so much more. I really would have been happy to just keep it all in the past, everything, and start completely fresh, but I already knew that wouldn't fly with Pickles.

(By the way, I thought it was cute that he wanted to eat there in particular because he wanted to know what Australian food was like, and I didn't have the heart to tell him that Outback was about as Australian as fortune cookies are Chinese.)

I knew he would be a bitch about this whole thing and wait forever to say something, and although I was willing to talk, I was not going to wait for him. "Pickles, if I could go back in time and do everything all over again," I paused for dramatic effect, and his eyes flicked up to mine from the menu. God, what pretty eyes. Whenever he looked up at me like that, they were always so big and eager. They made him look, well, submissive. "I wouldn't change a thing, bro." Pickles just blinked at me, but I could tell he was really mulling this over. "I mean, how could I? Dude, I was dead in love with you since you were thirteen years old, and I wanted to jump your skinny ass every day."

Looking back at the menu, Pickles said, "And then when I turned fourteen, you did." he said it in this blank, dry voice that was just his typical passive aggressive bullshit. I think if we were alone, I'd have slapped him.

Instead, I leaned forward and snarled, "Fuck you, I did control myself, and for an entire year! You don't know what it's like to have to be around the one thing you want more than anything and not be allowed to touch it!"

He scoffed, "O, I don't? So selfish you don't even consider what I might have been feeling?"

"You weren't feeling shit," I snapped, furious about the selfish crack most of all. If I were so fucking selfish, I wouldn't be there talking to him, would I?

"O, ok, so once again, this is all about you."

It was really hard to control my temper with him all of a sudden acting like this. I swear, this was like the shit I had to deal with with Amber. But I knew I had to be the bigger man here and try to be patient, no matter how unfair or childish he decided to be. "What are you talking about?" I asked.

"I had feelings for you too, Seth. Even before you raped me." He lit a cigarette from a pack in his pocket and gave me one.

"Ya, I know," I said, and he got really pissed about that. He slammed his hands on the table, with the cigarette bouncing on his lips and snarled, "Fuck you! This isn't just me getting hard again. You are always taunting me about that. 'O you must like it 'cuz look how hard you're getting, you whore!'" I just glared at him as he paused for a furious puff. "Fuck, I fucking hated it when you did that, dood. I mean, fucking think about it for half a minute, of course I'm gonna get hard when I'm fucking fourteen and you're fucking jacking me off like very fucking day, dude. Come on!"

"Look, I understand..."

"Do you?" He gave me such a sharp look. "Is this something you just realized, because you sure didn't back in the movie theater three months ago."

"Ok, first of all," I said, pointing my finger. "I fucking know about the male body, ok, I have one, thank you..."

"Then you should know that if I happen to come in your hand after you've been fucking yanking me for twenty minutes..."

"This isn't what this is about, is it, Pickles?" I leaned back and took a smoke. I puffed a few times and grimaced. "The fuck is this shit, Marlboro? Ugh, I'm ashamed, man, learn how to smoke, seriously." He wasn't saying anything, just staring into the menu like he had laser fucking eyes. "Why don't you get to the point, man?"  
He didn't look at me as he snarled, "Look, it just made me feel like shit that all you seemed to care about was my dick getting hard."

"That's not fucking true, asshole." I sucked in some smoke.

"Ok, you're right. You also liked to torture me."

"What can I say? You're cute when you cry." I smirked and then the waitress came over. We ordered drinks.

When she left, Pickles said, "I liked you too, alright."

"Ya, I know," I said, arrogantly, although, actually, I didn't. "That's why you were always hanging around me, eh?" I chuckled. "Like a little lost puppy."

He scoffed, "You either had me tied somewhere or you wouldn't let me out of your room."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Not all the time, shit! You'd come in my room even if I didn't ask you in."

"Ask?"

"Yes, ask, damn you. You always had a choice, Pickles."

He looked at me with this wild look in his eyes and barely controlled the volume of his voice as he said, "How the fuck do I have a choice in anything with a fucking rag shoved down my throat, huh? You once locked me in your fucking closet, Seth. Your closet! Does that sound very consensual to you?"

"Waaa, waa, such a victim," I growled, rolling my eyes.

"The fuck? Of course I was the victim!"

"You had every opportunity to fight back, man."

"Fuck's sake, it's this shit again. I lack the primal instinct of self preservation or whatever." He said this in an irritatingly patronizing voice, like that was such a ridiculous idea to him. Then again, weak people usually try to act like they're more important than everyone else, even though they have to depend on others. How twisted is that? Not that I'm saying Pickles is weak; he just likes to act like it.

"Ah, so you did read my emails."

"What do you expect from me, Seth?" he said, in a whiny voice. Made me want to punch him in the face. "You were always bigger than me."

"Survival of the fittest, eh?"

While I smoked, and the waitress brought us our drinks, he stared hard at me. I was happy to show him up, but I was a bit worried he'd get so mad he'd walk out on me. On the whole, I was very angry at how this was going. I mean, we'd just shared the most incredible kiss, shit. We were just like those chicks in the retarded Hugh Grant movies on that bench, all crying and pouring our hearts out and all that gay shit, so what's all this hostility about? He's all asking what do I expect of him, well what does he expect from me? He's not happy till I kiss his fucking ass?

I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose, knowing that yet again I would have to be the big boy here and try to diffuse the situation. "Pickles," I said in my calmest voice, although I could tell by the spark in his eyes that he thought I was being condescending. "I meant everything in those letters. I probably didn't know the best, exact way to say certain things, but I do still hold to the basics, man. I mean, do you want to nit-pick every fucking sentence, or what, bro?"

Pickles sighed, and then a waiter came. He said, "The uhh...sirloin, please, baked potato." To me, he added quietly, "Obviously you're just set in your ways about certain things, Seth." He said it like that was the end of it because he said so, so I growled to him, "Just simple fucking logic, man, just 'cuz you don't wanna see it." I wasn't trying to get the last word or anything, I just didn't want to let him steer the conversation anywhere he wanted just because he thought he could get away with it, with some stranger here. I guess he didn't think that I'd argue with him in front of someone. Before he could give me some lame comeback, I said to the waiter, "I'm sorry about that, get me the shrimp cocktail and fries please."

Even as the waiter tried to ask me if I wanted soup or salad, fucking Pickles snapped at me, "When you don't think about anyone else but yourself, then ya, it's logical."

"Will you shut the fuck up and let me order?" That just ripped out of me; I did not intend to be so loud. I apologized to the waiter and avoided everyone's eyes and gave him what he needed to he could leave.

"Way to go, douche bag."

With a snarl I yanked him over the table by the shirt and practically spat in his face. "How dare you fucking embarrass me like that, you..." I frantically searched for the right word, and decided on, "Brat!"

"Dood, let go of me, seriously," he said quietly. He kept flicking his eyes around, trying to tell me that people were looking, but like I care!

"What the fuck are you doing spouting personal business in front of strangers?" My fist balled up his shirt, and his eyes shone with that o so familiar look of helpless fear that made me want to hurt and comfort him at the same time.

"Please, Seth, just calm down, alright?" he whispered, and for a few seconds I held him there, a captive, as usual, until I finally shoved him away. As I watched him toss his White Russian down his throat, and saw the faces of strangers in their tables turn away in embarrassment, I started to feel so heavy, weighed down. This was going to badly, and I knew damn well that in the end, it was my fault. I dropped my head in my hand and squeezed my eyes shut, and breathed heavily.

"Dood, you ok?" he asked, and I nodded quickly. As much as I tried to control myself, I let out a humiliating little sound that I tried to cover up with a half-assed cough. "Are you crying, man?" he asked, but he said it like he was disgusted or embarrassed, and that only made it worse.

"Fuck you," I hissed, and I couldn't stop a few tears. I didn't see him, because I was covering my eyes as best I could, hoping to clam myself the fuck down before he could see, but he was already coming over to my side of the booth. I sat still and hostile, hiding my face as he took me into his arms, hesitatingly at first. It was just too humiliating to have the little punk, who was such a fucking baby himself, coddle me like I was one. Even though it did feel pretty good, the hug at least.

"Relax, man," he said softly. When I turned to glance at him, he didn't look disgusted or anything like that. At the risk of sounding sappy as a fucking Hallmark ad, he looked like he really cared, and it kinda broke my heart I guess. It just felt so much better now that he wasn't so damn mad anymore.

"Hey, come on, look at me," he said, and I turned my face to him. I'm sure I was a fucking pretty sight. Eyes all puffy, snot dribbling down my nose. Jesus. He just gave me this little grunt and kissed my cheek. "We gotta be able to talk about this without going at each other's throats."

I stared at the table, feeling his fingers in my hair. Now I felt like the kid brother getting comforted this time. It felt weird, but good in a way.

"Do we have to talk about it?" I moaned.

"Ya dood," he looked at me so intently and I waited for him to say more, but he pulled me close for a tight hug and said instead, "I really do love you, man."

I grabbed the back of his neck and hugged him so hard I thought I'd break the little bastard. With a lump in my throat, I looked in his eyes and asked, "Why?"

He gave me a dumb look.

"And if you say 'cuz we're brothers, I will fucking kill you right here, man."

He laughed, though a bit nervously. "No, fuck no, come on. You think I love Mahm and Dad just 'cuz they're family?"

"Then why do you say you love me?"

He was still holding me, but his fingers got tense on my shoulders. "I don't know. Shit, why do you love me?"

"It's not the same fucking thing, damn you..."

By now the waiter had come. I caught the slightest flicker of bewilderment in his eyes when he saw us huddled together in the same seat, and then his face lit up with a sort of common understanding that at first irritated me, then made me feel like some kind of romantic. I waited till he left to say, "You should hate me."

I saw him smirk, while pretending to be more interested in my shrimp and he said, "You know actually, I kinda do."

My face got hard, but I knew I couldn't say anything. That old feeling of being choked was coming back to me.

"But that's why we gotta talk, Seth, like really talk," he said, putting a hand on mine. I stared at his hand like I had no idea what it was and then snatched it back to my plate, growling, "Just what I fucking need, a lecture from my little brother."

He was quiet, but he was eating a little bit. I could still feel his arms so tight around me, despite how tense everything seemed. "Yer probably furious at me for saying what I did in front of Mahm and Dad," he said. I kept eating, starting head, listening to his light breathing.

"I hope you are. That'll mean that I got you back. A bit of revenge, I guess." He scoffed.

I turned to face him. He was just barely smirking at me, and I couldn't help but grin a little bit either. The fucker had a point, and god knows this would be like the first time he's ever stood up to me. I had to hand it to him for that. I chuckled dryly, "Ya, you got me good, bro." Some more silence. My voice started to break when I asked, "Hey, do you think," I stopped to take a drink from Pickles' glass. It needed a shit load more vodka, but the alcohol felt damn good sliding down my throat, first time for the evening. "Are you going to, you know, like, hate me forever?"

"Seth, God, dood, no!" he said. I looked at him and saw tears in his eyes.

"Jesus, not this crying bullshit again!" I said, and shook my head. "I'm just saying, you know, I'd understand if you do, I mean..." I was trying so fucking hard, but I couldn't keep it together any longer. I was thinking about all those things I used to do to him, and every time he would look at me with fear and hatred and disgust in his eyes. But you know even thinking about the good times was hurtful, and it's not that I was overcome with remorse or some shit, fuck no. I don't regret shit. I don't believe in regret. No, what killed me was that I knew who I was, I knew that I couldn't change anything, and I was ok with that, but I knew that Pickles was not.

"I knew how much I hurt you, Pickles," I said, and I tried to control my voice. "I knew, but it was like a drug, like some kind of addiction, man. I knew I would never stop, no matter what it did to you."

"I know that, dood," he said. His voice sounded hard, but I knew he was being honest. It was like I could relax, because this wasn't me apologizing and him forgiving, it was really just us talking about something we both understood as something that would never change.

"I've always known,, that's just how how you are."

I glared at him. "How I am?"

"You know, how you'll do anything to get what you want, no matter how many people you have step on in the process."

I couldn't help but grin at that.

"It's not fucking funny!" he said, but he thought so too. "That's not something to proud of."

"It works, though, doesn't it?" I smirked, squeezing him around the hips. I leaned into his chest, drinking in his smell. It was that same tangy musk I would fill my nose with everyday when we were kids; smelling that exact odor, after all these years, brought a fresh wave of tears to my fucking eyes. I guess it just made me all sentimental and shit, like I could never forget such a simple details as his smell.

"O, Pickles," I said, as I finally found some control over myself, and as I deftly wiped my face on his shirt before looking at him. "I can still picture your face when I first..." I looked down for a second, and then looked at him straight in the eyes and said, "raped you."

A flicker of discomfort showed in his face but otherwise it seemed ok to talk about this. "That look, you were staring at me with this naked, desperate fear. The pain your body, your confusion. Look, I know how monstrous this makes me, but that is just about the sexiest fucking sight, at least one of, I am not kidding." His face burst into a rich red color as he looked away, one hand fingers a dread. How endearing.

"Jesus."

"I'm fucking serious, dood. I still jack off to that memory.'

Pickles spurted with a very awkward laugh. "Ok, TMfuckingI, dood, seriously."

"Ahh, don't be coy with me," I said, rubbing his crotch. I breathed on his neck and felt his pulse quicken as he squirmed and tried to hide the grin of his face. Watching him writhe like that under my hands gave me a sudden, but irresistible idea. With a huge smile on my face, I jabbed him between the ribs and he jumped like a fucking rocket. Before he knew it I was tickling the shit out of him, laughing at how hard he tried to stop from laughing, and eventually he started trying to fend me off, pressing on my arms, jerking his body around. We made so much noise just from our elbows banging on the fucking table and the back of the seat, shit. I'm sure everyone was looking at us.

He had his hands at my throat by the time I stopped, breathless and laughing. "Do you have to do that shit in public, dood, Jesus Christ!" he hissed, collecting himself. He leaned into my chest when I opened my arms.

"O, the things I'd love to do to you in public, mmmm!" His body raised and lowered with chest as I twirled my fingers through that nappy mess he called hair. Shit, I missed his old style, but I figured that if you're pretty enough, you can pull off any 'do. At least he kept the goatee. I'll kill him if he ever shaves that, I fucking swear.

After a little bit I decided it was time to finish the conversation, at least get it over with. I still had a point to make. "I knew I hurt you, though, Pickles," I ended up saying. His body tensed slightly, but I was feeling better about getting this off my chest the more I talked about it. "As much as I love to see you in pain, bro, I knew even then that was fucked up. I...I wasn't all that proud of it, man." I sighed and began stroking the top of his head. "It's like you were accusing me, judging me in that look. It got me off, and it made me kinda..."

"Ashamed?" he asked, and I didn't answer. He got up and looked at me. "It's alright, dood, ok? You're not like that anymore."

That really got to me. First of all, that he was basically saying I was supposedly evil back then, and now all of a sudden a good guy. "What would you know, it's only been a fucking day."

"I didn't think you would have done this if you were still that way, Seth." He killed his Caucasian and flagged down a waiter for some Bailey's. "You still got a shit load to go..."

"Fuck you," I said, only half serious. "You say you love me, take me as I fucking am, Jesus."

He smiled at me in answer.

"Shit, we completely forgot about the fucking food," I said. We ate for a bit, Pickles mostly drinking of course, and then he said quietly, "Seth, sometimes when I'm...yankin' it, I, I think about that day too."

I had a shrimp halfway to my mouth and I stopped and stared at him. I put it down and could only say, "You do?"

He blushed. "Ya. And, other stuff too."

I turned to face him. "Like what?"

He stammered a bit as he forced himself to say, "Just like, about the regular stuff, you know..."

"No, tell me. Give me one thing you fantasize about, specifically." I slid my hand across his thigh, and we both took in a sharp breath at the same time.

"Well, this one time Mahm and Dad were out for some trip and you had me all weekend."

"Ya, that was fun." I grinned and stroked down to his knee. I could feel him getting hard without touching it, and I made it obvious I was deliberately avoiding it.

"I just like to imagine that whole time. Especially when we were in the kitchen, and you put me on the counter..." He voice was gradually drifting, and he was staring at his plate.

"Naked, all tied up," I said, leaning closer. Fuck I was getting really fucking hard too.

"I always think about when you took that knife from the drawer. When I saw it in your hands, I really thought you were going to kill me." He glanced at me real quick.

"Aw, come on."

"No, really, I was fucking scared, dood. You looked so fucking intense, and you were like, all dragging it all over my body, just staring at me like this was the last time you'd be looking at me alive. Fucking creepy as Hell, dood." He threw a bit of potato in his mouth and said quietly, "When you put it up to my throat, I thought to myself, this is it."

"Why does that excite you so much?" I asked, and I allowed myself to gently, just barely brush my fingernails over my crotch.

"I don't know, just the feeling of putting my life in yer hands, you know? And like, how I really don't know what's going to happen."

"Do you trust me not to kill you?" As fun as it is to force myself on him, hearing him talk about enjoying it was a wicked turn-on I had never even considered before.

"I guess now I can, but back then, I don't know."

"You really thought I was gonna kill you?" I chuckled, breathing in the scent of his slightly moist neck. He sighed at the touch of my fingers on his throat.

"Shit, dood, for the longest time I really thought that you did all that...stuff to me as a kind of punishment, like you really hated me. Shit, I was just waiting for when you were gonna finally do it, I guess."

"Now why would I want to lose a cute little thing like you?" I said, and gave him a little bite on the ear.

I could see him smiling just a bit, his eyelids fluttering just that slightest bit at the feel of my tongue on the rim of his ear. "Come on, Seth, you were fucking insane. It was always something with you. If we were allowed locks on our doors, I'd have used it."

"You're a fucking liar," I said, hugging him tightly. "You..."

"You're gonna say I wanted it, aren't you?" he snapped, pulling away. "Gonna give me all that shit about how I should have done more to defend myself, or maybe I should have spent all my time at Marcus' house, or hid in the fucking garage, huh?"

"Holy shit, bro, calm down, what are you getting all pissed for?" I could feel my heart begin to race, just like before every fight I've had in my life.

He closed his eyes and took in a breath. "Look, I'm just really, really fucking sick of you saying that shit, ok? You're always making these fucking assumptions about what I'm feeling or thinking, always accusing me of thinking the sickest shit all the time. Just like when you get me hard, because I'm like fucking 14 fucking years old, you just automatically assume that I'm a fucking whore and I fucking want it." He was trying very hard not to explode, but he was close. He had his teeth clamped down and wouldn't look at me.

"Pickles, don't take it so seriously, ok? I'm just fucking around with you..."

He smacked my hand off when I put it on his shoulder and hissed, "It is a big deal, alright? It's fucking humiliating! You have any idea how that shit made me feel? How it still does?"

I shook my head. "I thought we already went over this..."

"Obviously you didn't fucking get it!" He turned to a passing waiter. "Dood, can you get me a fuckin'...a fuckin'..."

"Would you like some more Bailey's, sir?" he asked, not phased at all, amazingly.

"Ya, fuck it, bring the whole godamn bottle, dood." As the waiter turned, Pickles grabbed his arm and slipped a bill in his belt. "Shit, I'm sahrry for fuckin' bothering you so much, man, yer doing a great fuckin' job." He slobbered up what he had left in his glass and then turned back to me. "Anyfuckingway. Dood, seriously, that shit is not cool. It's like, you're not even thinking about how you're making me feel or anything, you know?"

"Jesus, I'm sahrry, alright? But for Christ's sake, what the fuck am I supposed to think,you don't tell me shit I mean, it's a real fucking shocker that you told me what you did, about the jacking off and all, what about when we were kids, huh?"

"What, did I get off on what you did?"

I paused and looked at him. He still looked mad as Hell, but seemed to be calming down. "Ya."

He turned back and shook his head. "Ya, man, I did. I hated liking it, though. I felt like a fucking pervert, like something was wrong with me."

"Do you still?"

He went quiet all the way until he got his Irish cream from the waiter, and made me wait even longer as he fucking made a big to do about pouring it and shit. Unfortunately, this wasn't something I could beat out of him; I had to wait till he was ready. "Kind of, yes."

I felt like he punched me in the gut, but I stayed cool. "Is it the whole incest thing?"

"Well ya, that is like seriously fucked up," he said, and he looked past the booths, as if staring through the fucking walls themselves. "Jesus Christ, we're fucking brothers, you know? We grew up together. How the fuck would it look going to a wake or a family reunion holding hands, eh?"

An involuntary laugh snorted out of me at the image, and he couldn't help but laugh too. "Ya, Mahm and Dad would get a real fucking kick outta that."

He drank a bit and then said, "It's really fucked up, but I pretty much got over that a long time ago."

"Really?"

He looked at me with this weird kind of frown. "I was basically your fucking sex slave for two years, I had to learn to deal with it. You just happening to be my big brother was the least of my concerns."

I could feel myself blushing when he said that, just because, well, it sounded so godamn hot. "You were more than that..."

"You know what I mean. Look, I just don't really care about that part of it anymore. It's just weird having feelings for someone who, well, used to molest me. Like, what if these feelings are just some natural reaction or some shit?"

"Jesus, now with the psychology?"

He frowned. "I'm just saying, I want to make sure that I'm really feeling this way, you know? I feel like I want to, well, I don't know." He took another drink. And then another.

"Are you going to able to talk to me, I mean you've had a lot to drink already."

At that, he laughed in my face. "Are you fucking kidding me? This is barely a fucking warm up. I'm fine, Jesus."

I felt I should just let him talk in his own pace, but I just couldn't wait. I felt like I'd implode if he didn't tell me what I wanted to know in like the next few seconds. "Pickles, do you want to do something about this?" I swear, I was barely fucking breathing.

"What do you mean?"

"O, Jesus fucking Christ, you know what I mean! Do I have to say it?" I made him face me with a hand to his shoulder. "Come on, we've already established we love each other, like, in that way, you know, but now what?"

He sighed, "I already knew what you were talking about. I just wanted you to say it." He gave me this sheepish little grin that pissed me off and also made me want to kiss him for being so fucking cute.

"Are we going to start a relationship, or what?" I asked firmly.

His eyes got even bigger as he stared at me and said, "I want to."

I exhaled and broke into a huge smile. "That's all I needed to hear, bro. That's all I fucking wanted." I hugged him and then held his face. "You sure, dood? You want to be...shit, my boyfriend?" I felt ridiculous saying that, but fuck, how else could I phrase it?

"Ya, dood, I do," he said. He sounded like he had stage fright or something.

"How far do you want to take this?"

His hand fumbled for a drink. "Man, I don't know, we don't have to decide that right now, you know?"

"Ya, I guess you're right." I shrugged. "Who knows, we might break up in a few months!" I laughed and seized him for another tight hug.

"What about your wife?" he asked.

"What about her?" I scoffed, and traced my fingers along his eyebrow. He closed his eyes and sighed as I gave the rings a little tug.

"Come on, dood, wouldn't this be like adultery or something?"

"Jesus, I didn't marry for love!" We went quiet and waited for the waiter to clear the table.

"You don't care about he at all?" he asked in such a naive way.

"What the fuck are you, the Lifetime channel? No, I don't fucking care about her, whatever, it's just finger Amber. I only married her 'cuz of the godamn baby." I took a breath and then snapped, "And before you ask, and I know you fucking will, yes I care about the fucking baby, but I don't really need Amber now that she's popped her out, now do I?"

"Damn, that's kinda crude, man."

I rubbed the top of his head. "We did not have this little pow-wow to talk about my fucking baby, alright? What matters is that I'm still gonna be living with Amber, she'll still drain my wallet, and I'm gonna come up and see you as much as I can."

Pickles nodded. "Ok, dood. That works."

We payed and left and walked in an easy sort of silence. All the way to car, I was thinking about what that one chick in Pulp Fiction said, how it says a lot if two people can be comfortable with each other without thinking they have to say anything. Or something like that, been a while since I saw that movie. I also thought about his crack earlier about holding hands, and, well, I really felt like doing exactly that. But I didn't, of course.

In the car Pickles asked, "Where we going now?"

"I was hoping we could spend the night together."

He sighed, "Ya, me too."

Taking the car out into the freeway, I said, "You don't sound too hot on the idea."

"I...I'm just a bit..."

"Scared?" I answered for him with a grin. "Aww, worried I'm gonna hurt you? Nothing you can't handle, bro."

He just sighed and mumbled to himself. He looked so fucking nervous, it was kinda weird, really. Of course, I was beside myself with lust seeing my little brother this way, sitting with his hands in his lap, shoulders hunched up slightly. Him staring out the window, or maybe glancing at my lap, but never meeting my eyes. So submissive, God. I had noticed how he acted around his little band friends, and now I know that he only gets this way around me, when we're alone. He was my own secret slave, and I was thinking how hot it'd be to get him to be like this in public.

"Come on, it'll be fine," I said. "I'm not gonna force you into anything, ok? We'd only go as far as you're comfortable."

A pause, and he grunted, "K." When I caught him sneaking me a glance, I grinned at him and licked my lips. His face went beet red as he turned away.

So we checked in and everything and Pickles lay on the bed watching TV while I took a leak. He looked up at me with a small kind of smile as I walked to the bed, but then stared, startled, when I snapped the TV off and threw the remote across the room. "You can watch fucking TV on your own fucking time," I said as I crawled over him. He lay back and stretched out beneath me, tilting his head back, offering his neck. He was still terrified but definitely eager. He was panting and rubbing against me as I kissed and stroked him like we were already established lovers, like this was the most natural thing in the world. I was really starting to feel like that, too.

I was rubbing my cock against his, growling in his ear, licking his cheek, more and more desperate to violate him brutally with every sharp gasp and twist of his body. We were still fully clothed, I certainly thought about stripping us both in one movement, but I kept our clothes on. I liked the sound of the fabric rubbing and sliding, of the zipper on his jeans clicking against mine, the sound of denim scraping together. Spreading his legs with my knees, I looked down at my little rock star, his silly black shirt with the ripped sleeves, so soft to my fingers, easily grabbed and ruffled in my fist.

"You gotta let me hang out backstage some time," I whispered in his ear. He made a soft purring sound and pushed his hips against me. I dragged my tongue up his neck and held onto his sides. "I wanna watch you play and then jump yer ass between sets."

He gave me a mix between a chuckle and a gasp and took my lips when I offered them. Our kiss was just like the one on the bench, without the tears this time, and by now his mouth was starving for mine. I licked his top lip and he bit down on my bottom lip, soft moaning sounds building up between us. I realized that I had been grinding into him the entire time.

He sighed, his eyes closed, as I shoved his wists down at the sides of his head and leaned down to kiss his neck. So softly, he panted, "Bite me."

Sighing with excitement, I obeyed. His wrists pushed against my hands and his heart raced as I clamped down with my teeth. I felt the tendon that runs from the ear to the collar bone with my tongue, and found an artery with my teeth. His body shivered and slumped as I crushed it, and he made a far off sounding whine. Pressing my cheek against his, I said, "Aren't you worried your buddies will see it?"

He flashed his eyes at me, bright pools of green staring back at me. "I don't care."

I grinned and said, "You want them to see, don't you?" I licked where I had bitten and dragged my teeth along the skin. "Want them to ask, bring attention to it, eh?" I bit him again and he squeezed his fists, almost breaking from my grip.

"I'll tell I got 'em from some girl..." he moaned.

"Uh huh," I grunted, licking that spot right behind the ear lobe where I used to press my finger till he screamed when we were kids. A lick at the ear, and I whispered, "This'll all just be our nasty little secret, huh?"

"Mmm ya..."

I thought about adding how hot it would be for one of his band friends to see us kissing, but I figured it was way too early to talk about something like that. So instead I just kissed his mouth again and took my hands off his wrists to stroke down his chest, down the thighs. "I wanna fuck you, Dillon."

His body shivered and he opened his eyes.

"What, you don't want me calling you that?" I smirked.

"No, no, it's just, I haven't heard anyone call me that, fuck, I don't even remember when," he said quietly, looking at me with this wistful glint in his eye. He lifted his head to meet my tongue with his.

"Heh, just another name I can call you that no one else would, isn't that right, slut?" I smiled at him and stroked his face to let him know I was only partly serious. I was a bit worried it might have been a bit too soon for that.

But he only grinned and stroked the skin of my back beneath the shirt. "I want to wait," he said. "Just a little bit." He stroked my face.

"What's wrong?"

He bit his lip. "Just too soon, just doesn't feel right yet, you know."

"Shit, you're like a woman," I said, but I stroked his face and lay down next to him. He turned his back to me so I could wrap my arm around him and pull him in tight. "You better remember this night to your dying day, boy," I said into his ear, sliding my hand up his shirt. "Telling me not to fuck you, shit. Next time you better come horny, or get your skinny ass back home, I'm telling ya."

He laughed, "I promise we will next time. I'm fucking tired."

"I'm the one with the fucking jet lag."

"Ya, well I drank like an entire bottle of fucking Bailey's and a ton of Caucasians, dood."

I chuckled, "You said that was a warm up, you fag."

"Ya well, just waiting for you all day was enough, man."

I sat up and looked down at him. "Why don't we go take a bath and we'll sleep for a bit, eh? No sex, ok, just a nice, innocent bath."

He smiled. "Ya, sure, but if I pass out in the tub, dood, for the love of God..."

"I'll towel you off and put you under the covers, alright? Come on."

We went to the bathroom and he started to take off his shirt, but I stopped him with my hand. Kissing him, I slowly undressed him. With my clothes still on, I gently pushed him against the wall, where I dragged my palms down his body. As we got in the bath, I thought about a time when we were kids, when I took him to the river. I had made him undress, and I kept my shorts on, and I remember that feeling of triumph that washed over me as I watched him take his clothes off in front of me, tears welling in his eyes, cheeks reddening. He was only 14, I was almost out of high school.

Back then I was holding him under the water till his thrashing slowed, now I was sliding soap across his skin. Was I suddenly a good person, was I no longer the rapist he revealed me to be? Well how can that be, when even as I was massaging his shoulders I was imagining myself slamming his head against the wall and tugging on his cock so hard he cried and begged me to stop. And of filling the bathwater with the bright red of his blood, and of shadows from the artificial hotel lights darkening his face as it twists in a desperate pain from my fingers and teeth and cock.

I knew he wanted it. His eyes begged me to hurt him, to make him feel like he used to, even just for a few panicked seconds. When I gave his nipple a quick, sharp pinch, he didn't get mad. He sighed at the feeling of my hand brushing his cock and then closed his legs tightly, giving me this look like he wished he could, but he wasn't allowed.

Savagely I pulled his head to mine by the hair at his ears and growled, "When's it gonna feel right, huh, Pickles? I think now's a damn good time."

"Seth, please," he whispered, his body tensing, but he didn't struggle against me. "You said you wouldn't force me into anything."

"I know you want it, what's stopping you?" I pushed him against the wall and leaned close to him. He didn't try to stop me from holding his cock. He almost yelled aloud as I pumped it a few fast times.

"Please!" he shouted, and then he looked at me with a sort of grimace on his face. "I...just wanted to, you know, like, make it..." he looked down and got tense.

"Make it what?" I snarled, squeezing.

"Ahh! Special, I wanted it to be special, shit!" He had a hand on the rim of the tub, clutching at the slippery porcelain.

I let him go slowly. "God, you fucking queer, why can't tonight be special? This is our first night together since you left me, bro."

"Because I want to wait, I want to like, look forward to it, you know? I want us to take our time." He gazed up at me so earnestly, I felt myself agreeing with him, as insanely difficult such a plan would be.

"I'm not gonna be able to wait very long, bro," I said, going for his neck. The bite was small, quick. He sighed.

"Please. Just like if we were, like, dating or something."

I scoffed, "Shit, if you were just some dude I was dating I'd have fucked you into next Thursday by now."

"Come on, I just want it to be, I guess meaningful, you know?"

"It's not like we're waiting for our first time, Jesus."

He reached up to kiss me and put his arms around my neck. "Seth, we're starting over, aren't we? I mean, we're really doing this, right?'

There was this quiet kind of intensity to his voice that chilled me, but in a good way. "Ya."

"Exactly, I want to do it right this time, ok? Start over from fucking scratch."

"Jesus, you do realize what you are asking from me, bro," I sighed and kissed him. "Whatever, we'll do that I guess." I just had to return his smile, and then I dipped my head under the water. Without me saying anything, he went ahead and washed my hair for me, his fingers slow and probing on my scalp. "Mmm, that feels so good. Gonna put me to sleep." After I rinsed off I slammed him against the rim, almost bending him over it. While he stared, startled, I said, "I still get to, you know, play with you a bit, don't I?" He grinned at me nervously as I licked my upper lip.

"Please, don't go too crazy ok?" he said. "It's been a long time."

I laughed and leaned down to kiss him and then bit his neck even harder than I had all night. As he cried out and struggled beneath me, his hands clawing at my head, legs splashing, I bit down harder, harder, and held it for almost a minute. When I let go he was panting, and had tears in his eyes. "Did that hurt?" I asked in a mocking tone, and put my hand to his face. "That's not too crazy, is it?"

He laughed, and tears rolled down his cheeks. "You are fucking insane." And he pressed his face against my hand, laughing softly.

THE END


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